


Glee Club Revival

by Satine89



Category: Fake News RPF, Glee, Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - High School, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Music, Not Canon Compliant, Pairings to change and stuff later, Teen Angst, more pairings - Freeform, repost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine89/pseuds/Satine89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here's what you missed on Glee Club Revival: YouTubeLargo, aka Satine89, is redoing her old Fake News RPF/Glee crossover, where all of your favorite players in the golden age of Punditry RPF are recast in a high school glee club AU inspired by the once-popular show Glee. Mr. Jon Stewart starts a glee club at Flatpoint High, only to realize that making a functional choir isn't going to be very easy - he has cheer coach Ann Coulter breathing down his back, teenage romantic complications to navigate, his home life with wife Elisabeth Hasslebeck to attend to, and the beguiling pseudo-affections of school counselor Stephen Colbert to be completely oblivious to. There's going to be music, singing, heartbreak, and the nagging sensation that this fic didn't need to be rewritten. But that's what you missed on -harmonized tones- Glee!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

Jon Stewart had an idea.

This idea was different in that it woke Jon up in the middle of the night as he lay beside his wife, the lovely Elisabeth Hasselbeck-Stewart. It hit him like a hammer to the head, and Jon couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. It was so obvious! The problem the principal was having – it could be easily fixed, if Jon just did this for him!

He got up out of bed, rustling the sheets as he stood up. Elisabeth didn’t stir at all; just as well. Jon didn’t want to wake her unnecessarily. She’d been working a lot of extra hours down at the fabric store, trying to help with the house payments. They weren’t exactly drowning, but if they wanted to provide for a child…

Jon slid out of the bedroom, brown hair falling into his face haphazardly. Navigating the impossibly dark house, he tiptoed around, finally entering his cramped office. Around the stacks of papers that needed grading and books he needed to go through to supplement his lectures, there was a laptop, lying on the ground, humming and whirring. Jon immediately sat down next to it, opening up his faculty email inbox.

He shot off one email, with the simple subject “Idea?”, to Principal Lewis Black.

“What if,” the body read, “we started a glee club?”

-

The following Monday.

Stephen Colbert stared back at the man sitting in front of him, tempted to ask a myriad of questions. He’d known Mr. Jon Stewart for a long time, as far as faculty went. They’d both joined the staff of Flatpoint High about five years prior - Stephen as a fresh-out-of-college guidance counselor, Jon as a political science teacher moving a little closer to his home. And, as far as best friends went, the two were pretty close. They talked about everything with each other – Jon shared his struggles with his wife to have a child, Stephen shared his own concerns about dying miserable and alone.

But Stephen couldn’t figure out why Jon wanted to start a glee club. Stephen knew he used to sing in Flatpoint’s choir, back when he was a student, but that was nearly fifteen years ago. The choir, along with just about every extra-curricular that wasn’t football, cheer, or part of the suspiciously large journalism department was long gone. No one missed it. Stephen, thinking about all that, adjusted his glasses before folding his hands together on his shiny counselor’s desk. “…Jon?”

“Yeah?” Jon asked, all smiles. Stephen desperately tried not to focus on how eager, how endearing Jon was in that moment. Logic, Colbert.

“…It’s gonna be very hard,” Stephen noted. He couldn’t bring himself to say that the idea would surely fail. Flatpoint High wasn’t an artsy school. The town of Flatpoint might be a Midwestern artistic center, by some stroke of freakishness, but the high school? Stephen wished there were more arts, personally; the school would really benefit from a debate team. But when even the nationally-ranked cheerleading team had problems filling out a twenty-man roster, you knew you were in an artistic vacuum.

“We need more arts,” Jon pressed, as if this solved everything. “You were saying it yourself. And what better way to get kids more involved?”

“…Yes, it would be nice…” Stephen, flattered as he was Jon remembered him saying that, had to focus on the important thing here. “But Jon, I’m not kidding, a show choir’s a tough road to go. They usually attract more women than men.”

“So?”

“Our school is 85% male.” No joke. Sometimes it seemed like there were more female faculty members than female students.

Jon’s smile didn’t waver, however. “Then we’ll be a dude-heavy show choir.”

“How many guys are into singing and dancing? Coach Coulter has a monopoly on the dancers –”

“They can do both.”

Stephen narrowed his chocolate brown eyes, not in disapproval, but as a warning. “You know Ann is going to kill you once she finds out there’s a competing art club.”

“Stephen.”

They paused. Jon’s smile faded a bit as he glanced to the floor.

“I know you’re worried about me,” Jon said with a friendly voice, eyes tracking back to Stephen, “but trust me. The kids need something like this. And I think I can do it.”

Stephen tried hard not to be swayed by Jon’s simple optimism and bright smile. But Stephen couldn’t help it. When it came to Jon, Stephen always caved at some point. His heart won out over his head, time and time again. Besides, Jon seemed so certain that a glee club wouldn’t crash and burn, and if anyone could get a show choir to work, it’d be Mr. Jon Stewart.

Jon’s smile would earn him some support. For now.

“…Okay Jon. If you need help picking songs –”

“ – we’ll go through your records.”

Oh, who was Stephen kidding? He was in this for the long haul.

-

Kristen Schaal felt her heart leap out of her chest as she looked at the bulletin board in the hallway. Amidst the usual start-of-fall-semester notices posted by the principal, the phone chart for all the school therapists, and shiny blue-and-gold flyers for Cheerios auditions, was one simple, purple sheet of paper, a sheet of paper destined to change her entire life as she knew it.

A glee club.

Here.

At Flatpoint High.

Her already wide eyes widened even further in excitement. Her freshman year was torturous, with her unable to share her talent with the rest of the world – but here she was, sophomore year, finally getting a sign from God! She wasn’t cut out to be a cheerleader, not with her social status as total weirdo outcast, she wasn’t much into sports, and she knew she could sing. This was it. A place where she could show everyone what a woman like her could do! And a place where midriff-baring uniforms wouldn’t be tolerated, she was certain.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she signed her name on the sheet with a glittery blue pen, drawing a little star next to her name. They were her thing, after all.

-

Coach Ann Coulter was not pleased.

She tolerated Jon Stewart on most days. They disagreed on just about everything, but he was a good teacher who knew how to motivate his students. Most of the teenagers trapped at Flatpoint liked him. Most of the faculty liked him, too, especially that dippy guidance counselor with the brown hair and the glasses and the pointed voice. (Coach Coulter couldn’t stand him. Stephen, that was.) Jon was also an invaluable asset to football’s Coach Emanuel, since Jon actually played the sport in high school. Overall, in the five years since Jon came to Flatpoint, he’d given Ann no reason to hate him.

Until right now.

Ann’s eyes drifted over to her cheer squad as she sat on the bleachers. The team, standing in position in the center of the indoor basketball court, just finished their first run-through of their new sectionals routine, the routine that would propel them, for the seventh year in a row, to state competitions. A heavy silence hung in the air; only the collective sound of twenty-odd boys and girls holding their breath broke the quiet.

_“…Sloppy.”_

Breath released. One boy, a shaggy-haired thing with impossibly lanky limbs, sighed, extricated himself from the mass of people, and moved towards the audio equipment in the back of the gym, by the rightmost basketball hoop. The rest of the squad didn’t dare move until the girl at the head of their formation, a dirty blonde with a heart-shaped face, stepped forward. Immediately, everyone spun out of their formation, mingling with each other in near-silence.

“Coach Coulter, they barely know the routine,” the leader said matter-of-factly, her perfect pigtail bobbing as she walked forward. “We’ll have it put together by Thursday.”

Coach Coulter scowled. “See to it that you do, Miss Bee. The only ones who had it were Oliver and Munn.”

A pretty Asian girl with flowing dark hair cascading over her shoulders snapped to attention, only to drift off when she realized she wasn’t being summoned. A few paces from her, a bespectacled teenager crossed his arms in a huff, moving towards Miss Bee’s side.

“Wednesday should be enough time,” he told Ann with a grimace and a lilting British accent. “It’s not that hard, Samantha.”

“We can’t all be dance geniuses, John,” Sam countered. The English boy rolled his eyes haughtily and redirected his attention towards the guy at the audio equipment. Samantha waited for a response, but eventually gave up, turning back to Ann. “Coach, it's been two hours. We should call it a day.”

Coach Coulter nodded at her. “Everyone, pack it up. I expect you to be here tomorrow morning at seven for pre-class choreography work.” No one said anything, trudging towards the locker room. Ann, before Samantha could turn, gestured to her. “Bee, you stay behind. Oliver, you too.”

As Samantha and John wandered towards Coach Coulter’s perch on the bleachers, the rest of the team filed out. The Asian girl put a hand on Samantha’s shoulder reassuringly as she left; Samantha gave her a grateful look as she disappeared into the crowd of exercise-clothes-clad teenagers. When everyone, save the boy at the AV booth, was gone, Coach Coulter turned to the two stragglers.

“We have a problem.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “The new recruits suck at dancing, Coach. Completely and utterly suck.”

“That’s true, but not what I’m talking about,” Coach Coulter told him. John blinked confusedly. “Mr. Stewart is starting a glee club.”

Sam’s eyes widened a bit, but Oliver, not really getting it, blinked confusedly again.

“No,” Samantha responded in horror.

“…sounds stupid. Who cares?” Oliver asked.

“John,” Samantha said coolly to him, not moving her eyes away from Coach Coulter. “Show choirs attract girls. And we are very. VERY. Short on girls.”

John Oliver nodded, understanding, but not really registering. Then it hit him. “Oh. Shit, that’s not good.”

“Way to piece that together, Oliver,” Coulter responded. “That glee club will take a lot of potential Cheerios away with the promise of stupidly-choreographed song and dance routines.”

“And we can’t hold on to everyone on the squad from last year if we want to make nationals,” Samantha noted. “They’re out of practice.”

“And half of the women in school want to shag Mr. Stewart,” Oliver added.

The silence was deafening.

“…Oliver, hit the showers,” Ann instructed irritably. God, if it wasn’t for the fact that he could dance like nobody’s business, Ann would’ve kicked him off the squad two days into last year’s semester. The fact that he said things like that with embarrassing regularity was enough to make her want to –

_**“TRY TO ROCK NOW. THE FUNK’S YOUR BROTHER. CHECK IT OUT N-”** _

After jumping a few feet in the air, all three of them turned to the audio table, where the shaggy-haired cheerleader, after managing to turn off the heavy strains of Fatboy Slim’s ‘Rockafeller Skank’, gaped at them. He seemed just as startled by his mistake as they did.

“Martin!” Ann yelled, at her breaking point. Martin, in his shock, turned the music on again, hurriedly turning it off once more, but not before an ear-splitting note made John wince. Brown hair falling into his wide eyes, Martin stared at the three of them again, laughing nervously. Coach Coulter was not amused.

John finally spoke. “So I’m hitting the showers –”

“Me too,” Martin spat out frantically, taking that opening and running with it. The two boys exited hurriedly, but not before Sam heard John ask Martin, “Why the hell’d you do that, Demetri?”

“I didn’t mean –” Demetri’s voice whined back before the gym door closed behind them.

Sam and Coach Coulter were left alone, taking a few seconds to collect themselves. Ann was already writing this day off as a total waste, and that was before Martin proved himself to be a world-class moron.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that glee club, Coach.”

Ann looked up to see Sam staring at her, looking earnest.

“We’re the Flatpoint Cheerios,” Samantha emphasized with a knowing smile. “The envy of every girl and boy in school. Popularity always wins out in these situations. If none of the Cheerios try out, no one else will try out, either. Simple as that.”

-

Olivia Munn, fresh from the showers, ignored the buzzing phone in her Cheerios pullover jacket, staring at the sign-up list for Jon Stewart’s glee club. She trembled in her shiny white sneakers. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering signing up to audition.

She knew she shouldn’t be thinking about it. Coach Coulter made it clear that no Cheerios could join his club – officially because of the potential for schedules to conflict. The unofficial reasoning was obvious – you did not want to be on Coach Coulter’s bad side. She was a violent raging nutcase. But beyond that, it was already an unspoken truth that trying out for glee club would be social suicide for whoever attempted it. Olivia was used to being a nerd, so that part didn’t bother her so much. What bothered her was going against Sammy, her best friend Sammy, who made it very clear that she agreed with Coach Coulter. If that wasn’t bad enough, Sammy’s little leadership posse of John and Demetri definitely weren’t going to go against Coach, mostly because they were both on thin ice with her on a regular basis. If just one of them would rebel with her, this would be so much easier!

To be honest, though, Olivia thought with a frown, she was a bit sick of the Cheerios. She loved being a flyer, yes. She loved the travel and the earning the other students’ admiration and being with her bestest friend and her two boys. But… she…

She hated it. Ugh! She HATED so much about it! The popularity contests between the younger girls and the backbiting and the five-hour practices and the stupid uniforms that constantly rode up her ass and the shitty music they were always dancing to! The music! It was so! Fucking! _Bad!_

In the heat of the moment, she yanked a gold gel pen out of her jacket pocket and signed her name in a looping scrawl underneath Kristen Schaal’s name. She stared at the sign-in sheet, her irritation subsiding.

…Oh she’d be so screwed.

 _But I need this,_ Olivia thought as she capped her pen. She could do both clubs. After all, she was the only girl who could dance on Cheerios.

They wouldn’t get rid of her.

-

Steve Carell hadn’t thought much about clubs before. Now that Mr. Colbert was suggesting he join one, he wasn’t quite sure what to say in response. He was already part of the AV Club, an offshoot of Flatpoint Journalism. It took up some time, but wasn’t exceptionally challenging.

And as far as counselors went, Mr. Colbert was the nicest and most understanding of the staff. Steve tended to follow his advice, to success. But this bit of advice was just… baffling.

Mr. Colbert, blinking behind his wire-rimmed glasses, continued looking at Steve, wondering why he hadn’t said a word.

Steve adjusted his shirt collar before clearing his throat.

“Mr. Colbert… I appreciate the idea,” Steve said, “don’t get me wrong. But how would I last in a glee club?”

“What do you mean?” Stephen asked immediately, folding his hands together. Steve frowned, narrowing his eyes at the obvious stupidity.

“I’m in a _wheelchair_ ,” Steve spat out. He wanted to add a string of curse words to the end of that statement, but restrained himself. Like he said, he liked Mr. Colbert, but right now, he was acting like a complete dumbass.

Stephen pursed his lips. “And?”

“Glee club is… kinda physical?”

“They need singers,” Stephen informed Steve. “And besides, you’ve seen wheelchair dancing, right?”

Steve almost rolled out of the room. Now his guidance counselor was making shit up. Brilliant. Leave it to Flatpoint High, he supposed.

“You don’t have to make things up to make me seem useful,” Steve noted darkly. Stephen raised an eyebrow and, quick as a flash, got onto his computer. Steve rolled his eyes, ready to wheel away from the man. He didn’t need this right now. He could be studying for that calculus test next period that he’d already over-studied for. Or glance at Olivia Munn as she walked out of cheer practice and pretend that he wasn’t staring at her perfect hair or listening to her angelic laugh.

Stephen brought up a YouTube video on his computer. That got Steve’s attention right away.

“You got through the firewall?” Steve asked, rolling closer to Stephen’s desk.

“No, I’m not telling you how I did that,” Stephen retorted. “Look.”

Steve did. And, much to his surprise… there it was. Wheelchair dancing. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was amazing. This group of five, they were rocking back and forth, spinning, doing complex maneuvers around each other, as they sang their hearts out. Steve glanced to Mr. Colbert midway through the movie, unable to contain himself.

“I think I’ll sign up,” Steve told him.

“Told you,” Mr. Colbert said with a sly grin. “See you next Monday, Steve.”

-

Paul Dinello, Rachel Maddow, and Ieshuh Griffin heard about the fuss by the end of phys ed – a cheerleader signed up for some club that wasn’t cheer.

“I don’t understand why people care,” Rachel, pulling her hooded sweatshirt over her body as the three of them walked out of the gym, freshly showered and re-dressed. Paul had his hand around Rachel’s waist, mostly because she wasn’t wearing her glasses and was trying to walk while putting on a sweatshirt. Not the greatest combination. She finally managed it, tousling her boyishly short hair, and shoved her hands into her pockets, procuring her plastic-frame glasses.

“Coach Coulter told her team not to try out,” Paul responded with a sigh. “I didn’t expect Munn to be the one to break rank, though.” Paul adjusted the sleeves of his blue thermal, his black hair curling perfectly around his downcast eyes.

“Olivia? That girl’s awesome. My new hero,” Ieshuh proclaimed, waving her arms around. The bangles on them jingled melodically. “’Bout time someone stood up to the administration around here.”

“Don’t start that again,” Rachel begged. The last time Ieshuh tried to ‘stand up to the administration’, she ran for student government president, under the slogan ‘Bitch Get Shit Done’. It went about as well as could be expected. The three of them wandered into the school’s main hallway, completely ignored by the rest of the students. That’s what happened when you were misfits.

They didn’t mind. They had each other.

“So what club was it anyway?” Rachel asked.

“Mr. Stewart’s starting a show choir,” Paul responded. He put his hands in the pockets of his drainpipe jeans, mind elsewhere. “I’ve been thinking about joining.”

“You should!” Ieshuh cried, attracting the attention of easily-distracted football player Glenn Beck. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Rachel, Paul, and Ieshuh continued on. Ieshuh rolled her eyes, pulling her thin, black hair into a tight ponytail as she walked.

“You should,” Ieshuh repeated, once she was back on track. “Mama always said, you’ve got the voice of an angel!”

“I don’t know if it’s that good, but it’s good enough,” Rachel agreed, in her own strange way.

“Oh, please…” Paul demurred, though both his friends could tell that he delighted in the compliments.

They walked up to the bulletin board, staring up at the three names on it.

“…Who’s Steve Carell?” Rachel asked.

“Kristen Schaal, is she that super-optimistic girl in biology with us?” Ieshuh asked Paul.

“Unfortunately,” Paul replied with a heavy sigh.

The three of them stared at the list for a while.

“If you two sign up, I will, too,” Rachel finally said.

Paul and Ieshuh gaped at her. Rachel stared back at them.

“What?” Rachel asked, confused.

“You sing?” Paul gasped.

“And you never told us?!” Ieshuh nearly shrieked. She really was quite loud.

Rachel turned pink and tried to sink into her hoodie. “…You two have such great voices, I just…”

Paul, frowning, pulled a ballpoint pen from his shoulder bag and signed his name underneath Steve’s. He handed the pen off to Ieshuh, who also signed. She then moved to give the pen to Rachel. Rachel stared at it.

“Rachel, don’t ever judge yourself around us,” Paul told her. “Now sign.”

Rachel, smiling in spite of herself, took the pen from Ieshuh and signed her name. Now there were six applicants for this crazy glee club.

-

“Ieshuh Griffin is weird,” Glenn Beck said in the football locker room after school, changing into his uniform.

Rob Riggle, in the locker next to him, didn’t say much, ripping his shirt off. He didn't seem to be in the greatest mood. But the guy behind them, Jason Jones, directed his attention to Glenn.

“Ieshuh? She’s cool,” Jason said. “She just gets… passionate.”

“She’s really loud,” Glenn told him.

Jason, already mostly dressed in his jersey and pads, ran his fingers through his brown hair, smirking in spite of himself. “…Can’t deny that.”

“Did you hear about that thing Mr. Stewart’s doing?” Rob finally asked, ducking into his locker to find some deodorant. Glenn paused what he was doing (untying his sneakers); Jason continued to reach into his own locker to grab his cleats.

“The glee club?” Jason answered for Glenn, who was thinking way too hard about Rob’s question.

“Oh! I thought we were talking about the homework,” Glenn explaiend with a sigh. “I still need to do it…”

“We all do,” Rob added, more irritably than necessary, finally emerging from his locker.

Jason slipped on his cleats. “But yeah, the glee club. What about it?”

“I hear Olivia Munn signed up,” Rob explained, sliding on the deodorant as his eyes scanned the floor, looking for his jersey. “And Coach Coulter is almighty pissed. At least, that’s what I got from Oliver.” Under his breath, he muttered something about John being an asshole. Jason and Glenn knew better than to ask.

“Why?” Glenn asked simply.

“Coach said not to join,” Jason replied. “Sam told me. Coach Coulter doesn’t want the two practices conflicting. And you know how she gets.”

Both boys nodded. Rob scooped his uniform off of the ground, putting it on a nearby chair as he yanked his pads out of his locker. “…Who’d want to join a show choir anyway?”

“Might be fun,” Jason shrugged. Rob gaped at him.

“I have two left feet,” Glenn admitted, ignoring Rob. “No can do.”

“Show choir… isn’t that super gay?” Rob asked.

Jason stared at him, narrowing his eyes. “First, dude, not funny. Second, dancing’s probably a little less gay than fucking a male cheerleader.”

A choking silence took hold. Glenn took this as his cue to unsubtly take all his clothes and get changed elsewhere. Rob seethed for a few seconds before glancing at the completely clothed Jason.

“John broke up with me.” Rob slammed his locker shut and, like Glenn, grabbed his stuff and vacated the area.

Jason’s face paled before he had time to awkwardly stare at the floor. Way to relate to your best friend there, Jason. Not having much else to do, Jason trudged out of the locker room and headed towards the field.

-

After school, everyone usually cleared out of the campus. There wasn’t a whole lot to do there, anyway, unless you were on the Cheerios. As it would happen, Coach Coulter cancelled Cheerios practice to plot a course of action against Mr. Stewart, and football practice ran short, on account of three defensive linemen being ill. Jason was one of the last people left at Flatpoint, taking a shower, by himself, in the locker room.

He and Rob agreed to hang out later that night. Rob wanted to just play videogames and not talk about “fucking cheerleaders and their fucking accents and their fucking mind games” (Rob’s words, not his). The evening had potential to be good, Jason admitted to himself as he grabbed his little travel shampoo and lathered up his hair.

 _“I got a feeling… that tonight’s gonna be a good night… that tonight’s gonna be a good, good night, a feeling…”_ Jason didn’t know all the words, but he liked singing in the shower. He did consider signing up for that glee club, actually. His girlfriend was very, very much on the anti-glee side of things, being Coach Coulter’s head cheerleader and all. He didn’t want to go against Sam, even though he wondered why Sam cared so much that he not join. They were boyfriend and girlfriend, not one single being.

_“Fill my cup! Mazel tov! Look at her dancing – let’s take it – off!”_

Jason didn’t realize that his singing was loud enough to attract Mr. Jon Stewart’s attention from the hallway outside. And Jon knew that voice; he heard it during poli-sci exams, humming absentmindedly from the seat behind Demetri Martin.

Jon walked down the hallway, trying to figure out how to get Jason Jones, team quarterback and all around decent guy, to join his glee club.

Ironically, they needed more men.


	2. Auditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here’s what you missed on Glee Club Revival: Mr. Jon Stewart of Flatpoint High decided to start a glee club, and plunged the campus into verbal warfare. But football coach Rahm Emanuel is on Jon’s side, and cheerleader Olivia Munn has defied orders from Coach Coulter and decided to audition, risking her social standing. Oh, and John Oliver kicks in a door, but that’s a normal thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to go on iTunes and download this episode’s songs! In order of appearance:
> 
> \- [“Glee Club Audition Tape”, Glee Original Cast](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjvuASCR94c)  
> \- [“I’ve Got All This Ringing In My Ears and None on My Fingers”, Fall Out Boy](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvnbQtL9hgQ)  
> \- [“Girl With One Eye”, Florence + The Machine](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FeiRTjzdII4)  
> \- [“You Belong With Me”, Taylor Swift](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuNIsY6JdUw)  
> \- [“Can’t Fight This Feeling”, Cory Monteith (Glee OST)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-QgUDoBH3qw)

Monday evening.

Jon Stewart walked through the front door of his house, looking like death warmed over. Despite having the approval of Principal Black - despite having most of the faculty behind him in wanting new arts programs - and despite having a fairly good chunk of students signed up to audition… the glee club was already a lightning rod for controversy. Jon didn’t expect Ann Coulter to stand by and let another club take girls from her nationally-ranked cheer squad, but she could at least let her students make their own choices. Poor Olivia Munn was already facing the wrath of her peers for going against Ann’s wishes. 

Walking into the house, Jon dropped his shoulder bag on the ground by the door. The sound caused Elisabeth, standing in the hallway, to jump. She turned her head, blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders. She was already in pajamas, Jon noticed. He sighed. God, he’d spent way too much time at Flatpoint. 

“Jon!” Elisabeth squeaked, startled. “…You look horrible.” 

“I feel horrible,” Jon admitted. The only good part of his day was talking to Stephen. Well, that and hearing Jason Jones sing in the shower, but he wasn’t going to tell his wife that. That would just sound creepy. 

“It’s almost nine o clock,” Elisabeth informed him. “They can’t run you that ragged! We’re going to have a child soon, after all.” 

Elisabeth never stopped talking about their potential baby. Jon used the word ‘potential’ because, for the past year, they’d been trying to have a kid. But Elisabeth was sure she was pregnant this time, despite the fact that she wasn’t all that late for her period. Jon hoped she was right. He’d always wanted children, and he was married to the love of his life. That was the next step. 

“…It wasn’t them this time, actually,” Jon noted, loosening his tie as Elisabeth walked toward him. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I volunteered to start a show choir,” Jon told her. 

Elisabeth’s eyes widened a bit. “…Why would you do that?” 

Jon blinked. “Well, the kids need something to –” 

“No, why would you volunteer for that?” Elisabeth demanded to know, turning on her heel and heading towards the bedroom. This was her method of argument - walking off and ranting to the air. Jon aimlessly followed her, taking off his jacket as he walked. 

She continued on. “You don’t have the time! We’re starting a family and a baby isn’t going to watch itself! And I’m going to need to take extra shifts at the linen store to cover the costs, you know…” 

“It won’t take up that much more time,” Jon tried to tell her. 

“You’re already helping out those kids by exposing them to politics,” Elisabeth continued, ignoring Jon. She walked into the bedroom, turning on a lamp and sliding on some slippers before wandering into the adjoining bathroom. “You’re teaching them to defend themselves against the liberal propaganda machine, isn’t that helping them out enough?” 

Liberal propaganda machine? Jon wondered where Elisabeth got this stuff sometimes, but he didn’t let her misconceptions bother him. He didn’t understand her work at the fabric store, and she didn’t grasp what political science 101 entailed. 

“There’s a lack of arts at the school,” Jon told her calmly from the other room, hanging up his jacket in the closet. He heard the faucet turn off, and for a while, all he could hear was the sound of her brushing her teeth. He took off his button-down shirt and dug through his closet, looking for – there, a t-shirt. Jon heard the sound of spitting as he pulled the old college shirt over his chest. 

Elisabeth emerged from the bathroom as Jon took off his pants. Staring at him, she nodded a bit. 

“Just don’t come home this late again,” she pleaded. “Please.” 

Jon nodded back at her. He wouldn’t. Things would even out tomorrow. Ann would lay off after auditions, he was sure. 

\- 

Tuesday.

Rahm Emanuel, contrary to what most people would expect from a high school football coach, thought a glee club was a great idea. He didn’t say that just because he considered Jon a friend, though that did play a part in his thinking. 

Rahm didn’t talk about it much, because he didn’t have much occasion to talk about anything other than football and romantic problems (his students were extremely open with him, sometimes to his personal chagrin), but in high school and college, he did ballet in addition to football. He knew how much some basic hand-eye coordination helped with any sport, and dancing was a great way to keep in shape during the off-season. Rahm closed the door to his beat-up sub-compact, walking through the crowded parking lot and glancing around at everyone near the front of campus. He noticed a few familiar sights – John Oliver and Demetri Martin loitering by the front door, sharing an iPod; Glenn Beck wrestling with his car keys (his pickup truck was even more beat up than Rahm’s subcompact, and often refused to lock); Kristen Schaal practicing her musical scales underneath the shade of a tree while some Cheerios laughed at her from a few paces away. 

Rahm pushed through the front door, earning a muted ‘good morning’ from John and Demetri before they returned to the iPod. Indoors, there was even more hustle and bustle than outside: most of the female Cheerios gathered around Samantha Bee’s locker as she showed off the new, simple gold necklace her boyfriend gave her, giggling and cooing excitedly; Paul Dinello, Ieshuh Griffin, and Rachel Maddow crowded conspiratorially by the door to the journalism room; Rob Riggle was busy slipping a note angrily into someone’s locker. Rahm paid too much attention to what was going on around him, he thought blankly, as he pushed through the hallway and walked into the teachers’ lounge. 

Unsurprisingly, the man he wanted to see was right there, leaning against a countertop and sipping coffee. Rahm nodded to Jon Stewart, who nodded back with a smile before taking another sip of coffee. Rahm procured a mug from a low-level cabinet, preparing to get his own coffee. 

“How is everything?” Rahm asked. 

Jon sighed. “…Not as good as it should be.” 

“Ann?” 

Jon nodded. Rahm wasn’t surprised. He put his mug on the countertop, reaching behind Jon to grab the coffeepot. Jon moved, still looking perturbed. Rahm knew yesterday bordered on disastrous for him, in spite of having so much support from so many corners; Jon was such a nice guy, Rahm thought, and only thought of what was best for the kids. He was terrible at navigating office politics, and never wanted to cause offense. 

“Look, Rahm, I don’t want to –” Jon began, but Rahm cut him off. 

“Take my football players. Please,” Rahm told him eagerly. Jon raised an eyebrow. 

“…You don’t care?” 

“Fuck no,” Rahm responded. “Dancing would help out so many of those guys, you have no fucking clue.” Rahm tried hard to avoid using foul language in front of the kids. He tried so hard that his language around adults bordered on obscene. “Especially Beck. Jesus Christ, the kid is so uncoordinated.” 

“Do linemen need coordination?” Jon asked. 

“Of course they fucking do,” Rahm responded, sounding genial despite the harshness of his words. “Helps them block better. Take them, please, I could give a shit. We’ll work out a schedule for the ones who want to dance their goddamn hearts out.” 

Jon nodded, looking a bit brighter now. Rahm smirked at him. He enjoyed cheering up his best friend. They might not be as open with each other as some, but they could decipher every little twitch the other made, and could figure out exactly what that twitch meant. 

They continued drinking coffee in an easy silence. 

“…I actually wanted to ask you about one of the players,” Jon suddenly said. 

\- 

“FUCK! THAT FUCKING KNOB-END SHITHEEL–” 

John Oliver kicked the wall in the bathroom by the biology lab with an angry sort of screech. Demetri sat on one of the sinks, watching John passively, playing with a thin rope band on his arm. Demetri was used to this. John and Rob went through some sort of relationship explosion every other day. It made Demetri wonder why John even bothered. 

“…I take it you’re single again?” Demetri asked, trying to sound sensitive and failing. John recoiled from the wall, clutching a crinkled piece of paper in his left hand. From behind his glasses, John closed his eyes, lip twitching into a frown. 

“…Yeah,” John responded quietly, looking crushed. 

Demetri got off the sink, moving over to John’s side and hugging him. 

“…That’s very nice of you,” John told him. 

“I know you too well,” Demetri admitted. He did. Ever since the two of them met each other at Cheerios auditions last year, they’d been practically inseparable. John, a recent immigrant to not just Flatpoint, but America, found that his honest, biting manner of speech tended to alienate people. Demetri, who’d lived his whole life in Flatpoint, was labeled an idiot some point in elementary school, and the label stuck, much to the detriment of his social life. They gravitated towards each other easily. 

John let Demetri hang onto him for a few seconds. “Riggle wrote me a lovely note.” 

“I’m sure,” Demetri responded. Letting go of John, he pried the note from his hands, smoothing it out on the wall. “…Well, ‘Dear Asshat’ is always a good start to a letter…” 

“He’s so good with pet names,” John admitted sarcastically. 

Demetri smirked at John; John smirked back. Oh, Rob Riggle. Always affording them a bit of laughter, even in the most inappropriate times. 

Demetri continued reading to himself, eyes scanning the page quickly before he paused. “…Why’d you break it off with him, anyway?” 

“He’s been knocking around with other birds,” John spat out before rolling his eyes. “I can just… sense it.” Without warning, he kicked a stall door angrily. It bounced back at him, narrowly missing John’s face. Demetri gaped at that for a few seconds before returning to the letter. 

“…Then he has no reason to care. He brought it on himself.” Demetri paused. “He seems to think you were cheating on him, too.” 

“I’m sure as hell going to do that now,” John responded. 

Demetri wasn’t surprised. It was an endless cycle with John and Rob – one of them did something wrong, the other broke it off, one of them took revenge in a very public manner, the other was so thoroughly shamed that they started groveling... Rob and John were not good for each other. 

Sometimes, Demetri imagined he was part of John’s revenge on Rob. He knew he shouldn’t. It wasn’t healthy, to drag someone else into your psychosexual games. But sometimes, even when John wasn’t on a vendetta against Rob, he wondered what it’d be like, kissing his best friend, pulling at the hem of John’s Cheerios uniform pants and pressing his body against the bathroom wall and hearing him moan out Demetri’s name as his hand slid further down his underwear – 

But Demetri didn’t say anything about that to John. Ever. Fantasy was probably better (and safer) than reality, in this case. 

“…Or maybe not,” John added weakly. And that was why. It didn’t matter what they did to each other. Rob and John always came back to each other. They loved each other. 

Or so they claimed. 

Demetri pursed his lips. “Well, you could not do what he expects you to do.” He waved the note around. “Reverse psychology and all.” 

John nodded appreciatively. “Yeah. …Yeah. Demetri, you’re a genius.” 

“No I’m not.” 

“No really, you are. A genius ditz.” 

Demetri pretended to know what John was talking about. 

“…Let’s get out of the loo,” John said, glancing at the flickering light above them. 

“Good idea,” Demetri immediately said. John offered Demetri a hand; Demetri took it, and out they walked. 

\- 

“I really appreciate you doing this for me, Mr. Hodgman,” Jon told the piano-playing English teacher as they entered the long-unused choir room. The janitors still cleaned it, so everything sparkled like it was brand new, even the twenty year old risers. In a few days, those risers would be full of students. Jon smiled at the imaginary sight before redirecting his attention to Mr. John Hodgman, who’d just seated himself at the piano. 

Testing a few of the keys, Mr. Hodgman looked up and nodded at Jon. “It’s in tune. And don’t worry about it, Jon.” He made everything sound breezy, Jon noted before looking at the sign-in list in his hand. Six names. No Jason Jones. Oh well. 

“I’m gonna get the first one.” 

\- 

Rachel was about to die. 

She’d never been in the choir room before. Ever. She wanted to do a scathing attack piece about it as part of her analysis of the school’s budget, but her upperclassman, Wyatt Cenac, thought that was just being mean. They intended to use the choir room, he pointed out, unlike the unfilled pool in the back of campus; they just didn’t have anyone willing to start a choir. Until now. 

Rachel shuffled in, wearing her lucky blue hooded sweatshirt. Rachel even put a shiny blue barrette in her hair, at Paul’s urging. (It wasn’t hers, obviously. It was Ieshuh’s.) 

Mr. Stewart was nice enough about the auditions. He went into the hall and called her name, saving her from mingling with the five others outside. (Kristen Schaal was already regaling Ieshuh about her new cat calendar, and, at last glance, Olivia Munn looked ready to puke.) Evidently, she was first. Better get the terrible singer out of the way, he must’ve reasoned. 

Rachel walked up to the first row of risers, up at the top, looking very ill at ease. Why did she agree to do this? 

Mr. Stewart nodded. “Just let us know when you’re ready.” 

Rachel frowned and nodded, feeling her face go completely pale. Oh God. This was happening. 

But girl, she reminded herself, you regularly do awesome things in journalism. You are awesome! Go girl! You can do it! Show all those losers what you’re made of! 

Why she’d suddenly turned into a riot grrl, she wasn’t sure. 

Mr. Hodgman (she hadn’t even noticed he was there at first) began to play the opening notes of Rachel’s song. Much to her surprise, he’d tweaked it, just the way she’d imagined it being tweaked when she sang it to her bedroom mirror the night before. It was slower, more melodic… Maybe she could do this. 

_“This was never the way I planned…”_ Rachel sang tentatively, a bit shocked at how strong her voice sounded. _“Not my intention! I got so brave, drink in hand… lost my discretion!”_ Rachel felt herself growing more confident with each line. _“It’s not what I’m used to…”_ Hah, lies! _“Just wanna try you on – I’m curious for you… got my attention!”_

The music swept her up. It was just a piano, but in her mind, she could hear cymbals crashing, drums pounding, the whole nine yards. And she could do it, riot grrl self reminded her. She was fucking doing this! 

_“I kissed a girl, and I liked it!”_ Rachel belted out. Mr. Stewart looked a bit shocked, but in a good way. Rachel spun around awkwardly - she could work on dancing later. _“The taste of her cherry chap stick… I kissed a girl just to try it – I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it!”_ A brief flash of her logical self wondered why she didn’t rewrite the lyrics to that part. She’d never had a boyfriend and everyone knew it. But she had kissed a girl. And she did like it. In the simplistic language of the song. 

_“It felt so wrong and it felt so right – it don’t mean I’m in love tonight!”_ Mr. Stewart cut her off mid-song. Rachel jerked forward, mind immediately hurtled back to the present. She sang. For people. 

Rachel buried her face in her hoodie in embarrassment, only her glasses visible. She literally sang a Katy Perry song about being a fake lesbian to turn on guys! For a school audition! What the fuck was she thinking?!

Mr. Stewart didn’t seem to mind.

“Great job, Miss Maddow,” Mr. Stewart told her. She paused for a moment, watching him curiously. Miss Maddow. No one called her that. “I think we definitely have a spot for you.” 

\- 

They definitely had a spot for Rachel.

Paul repeated the words over and over in his head as he walked into the choir room, acting as if he owned it. He needed to own this. He had to blow Mr. Stewart out of the water. Rachel must’ve pulled out something amazing, he reasoned. He figured that her whole shyness-about-singing thing was an act of some sort – the Rachel he knew got fired up over everything. Surely music was no exception.

He dropped his shoulder bag onto a chair near the risers, standing on the lowest level, hand on his hip. He didn’t bother taking off his skinny black-and-grey scarf; it went perfectly with his black thermal and tight blue jeans, and to take it off would ruin the effect.

He should’ve worn the blue barrette himself. It would complete his ensemble, but Ieshuh wouldn’t let him take it.

Mr. Stewart, standing by the piano (was that his English teacher playing piano?), nodded to Paul. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I was born ready,” Paul noted. Mr. Stewart raised an eyebrow as Paul smirked and nodded to Mr. Hodgman (that was his English teacher!). Mr. Hodgman began to play, jazzing up Paul’s music, just like Paul hoped he would. The song required a bit of jazz…

_“Cellophane, Mister – Cellophane, should’ve been my name, Mister Cellophane!”_ Paul belted out, a raw edge to his voice that wasn’t apparent when he spoke. Paul worked on that edge all the time. It was easy for him to slip into his falsetto accidentally, and that edge kept him firmly grounded in baritone register. _“Cause you can look right through me, walk right by me – and never know I’m there, I. Tell. You. Cellophane –”_

Paul gripped the microphone stand in front of him as if it was his lover. His fingers ran along it, his mind in some imaginary scenario. He played this one out a lot in his mind. Mister Cellophane was kind of his theme song: the object of his affection never noticed him, Paul thought wistfully. _“Mister Cellophane, should’ve been my name, Mister – Cellophane!”_

No, Jason Jones never noticed Paul Dinello. He was too busy chastely chatting with Samantha Bee. Or laughing at Rob Riggle’s jokes. Or trying to figure out how Demetri Martin finished that Rubik’s Cube in two minutes. Or not noticing Paul watching any of these things from afar, eyes misty with want.

_“Cause you can look right through me, walk right by me… and never know I’m there! Never – even –“_ Oh, here it came, the super high note, intake breath, expand diaphragm - _“Know…”_

An astonished pause filled the room. Yes. Paul Dinello had an awesome girly falsetto. And he was fucking proud of it. Paul nonchalantly brushed some hair out of his face.

_“…I’m there…”_

Mr. Hodgman petered out on the piano, staring at Mr. Stewart. Mr. Stewart nodded his head.

“Yeah,” he said, finally, after a few agonizing seconds. “You’re definitely in, Mr. Dinello.”

Paul smiled. He was in. And, apparently, warranted a Mister. He’d have to talk to Sean Hannity about that the next time the idiot tried to throw him in the dumpster.

\- 

Ieshuh was on this.

She’d been singing this song since age four, just like every other black girl in her neighborhood. They did it in a group at church one day, and the whole congregation exploded. Ieshuh figured the song was good enough for this audition. 

She flounced into the room, bolstered by the news that both Rachel and Paul made it in. This club was going to be awesome, Ieshuh decided, if they were all in the club together. Especially if she could add her own bit of style to it.

Passing the oddly familiar guy at the piano, Ieshuh waved to Mr. Stewart, who she had Political Science with in the mornings. Ieshuh did her best in that class, but half of the time, she wondered why the hell she needed to care about congressional spending limits. The three branches of government, yeah, important. Other stuff, not so much. 

“Hello, Miss Griffin,” Mr. Stewart said brightly.

Miss Griffin! If she wasn’t pumped before, she sure was now.

“Whenever you’re –”

_“WHAT YOU WANT!”_ Ieshuh belted out. The piano player caught up with her, after a startled jump. Ieshuh knew he would. That’s what piano players were for. They followed the singer’s lead. _“BABY I GOT IT! AND WHAT YOU NEED – you know I got it!”_ Ieshuh felt like she could stop screaming now. She got their attention with her big, bold voice. Now to wow them with nuance.

_"And I’ll I’m askin’… is for a little respect when you come home!”_ For good measure, Ieshuh added some miasmas to the end of the note, to show off her range. Because she had range up the wazoo. _“Babay, when you come home, oh no no, Mister!”_

Now to her big finish!

_“R – E – S – P – E, C, T! Find out what it means to me!_ she chanted, grooving all over the choir room. She wasn’t bound by the confines of the risers, no! She was gonna dance all around the room! This was show choir, wasn’t it? Mr. Stewart seemed amused by her constant movement. _“R – E – S – P – E, C, T! Take care of TCP! OWW!”_

Mr. Stewart cut off the music, much to the piano player’s apparent sadness. Ieshuh blinked, finding herself by the opposite end of the room. She needed to work on her choreography.

“Excellent, excellent! Welcome to the Flatpoint Glee Club!” Jon greeted.

\- 

Steve Carell wasn’t sure what to think, honestly.

He’d watched the nervous bespectacled girl run in nervously, then run out just as nervously to confer with her two friends, who immediately shrieked and danced around her. Then the curly-haired boy strode in, and strode out, confident as he exclaimed that he made it, too.

Now the black girl was back, shouting about how she’d gotten in, too. Steve felt his face whiten with each bit of news. What if he was the only person who didn’t make it in?

But his glance kept moving back to Olivia. She shook like a leaf in the wind, her Cheerios uniform not covering much of her trembling body. Steve considered his options for a few seconds. He was already trying out for a show choir, after all. Why not talk to the girl of his dreams?

He wheeled over to Olivia, who didn’t seem to notice him. Her curtain of dark hair curved around her face delicately, in a way that Steve found endlessly attractive. He cleared his throat; she jumped a good three feet in the air before realizing that it was just a person beside her, not some backfiring air conditioner. Steve smiled up at her, and she, weakly, smiled back.

Shit, he had to say something now.

“You look worried,” Steve offered.

“…I-I-I am,” Olivia responded. Steve blinked a bit at her stutter, but kept smiling. It was endearing, all told.

“You shouldn’t be,” Steve told her. “I mean, you dance with the Cheerios all the time. You’ll do great, I’m sure.”

Her face lightened a bit, a small, genuine smile forming on her face. “Th-thank you… um…?”

“Steve Carell!” a voice called. Steve turned; evidently it was his turn. He’d wanted to talk to Olivia more, though… no matter. He was here to try out for the Glee Club.

“That’s me,” Steve told her. Olivia nodded.

“S-S-Steve Carell,” she repeated. “Th-th-thank you. Ag-gain.” 

“No problem,” he said before wheeling off into the choir room.

Oh God. He’d talked to Olivia Munn. And her stuttery voice was even more adorable than the sultry voice he’d imagined she’d have!

-

Olivia watched him wheel out, wondering why now, of all times, her stutter decided to act up.

Steve Carell. She smirked wider. Maybe she could do this.

-

“Mr. Hodgman!” Steve called as he entered the room.

“Steve!” Mr. Hodgman called back. They exchanged high-fives, much to Mr. Stewart’s confusion. Steve, pushing himself along on his wheelchair, stopped in front of Mr. Stewart, who still seemed confused.

“…Mr. Colbert recommended I do this,” Steve told Mr. Stewart.

“Oh I know,” Mr. Stewart answered. “I just… didn’t realize you knew Mr. Hodgman.”

“He taught me violin,” Steve offered.

Mr. Stewart blinked. Steve didn’t blame him. He didn’t look much like the violin type. In any case, he nodded to Mr. Hodgman, who nodded back excitably. "How we prepared it?" Mr. Hodgman asked.

"Sounds good," Steve told him.

Mr. Stewart didn’t have much time to prepare himself before –

_“You’re a canary – I’m a coal mine! And sorro—o-ow is just all the rage!”_ Steve began, wheeling around in a simple pattern he’d learned last night off of YouTube. _“Take one for the team, you all know what I mean!”_ Steve tried another wheelchair dance maneuver – the back and forth shuffle. He rocked back on one side, then to the other side, rapidly. It seemed to work, and went in time with Mr. Hodgman’s frenetic piano playing. He really did capture the essence of Fall Out Boy, Steve thought.

_“And I’m so sorry! But not really! Tell the boys were to fi-nd my body! New York eyes, Chicago thighs – push up the window to kiss you off…”_ Steve continued, spinning his wheelchair in a circle.

_“And the tru–th hurts worse than anything I could bring myself to do… to you… And the tru–th hurts worse than anything – I could bri-ing my-self to do to you…!”_

At that moment, Mr. Stewart stopped the music. Mr. Hodgman, not really paying attention, kept playing the melody softly in the background for a second or two longer than necessary. Steve stopped spinning around in his wheelchair, staring at Mr. Stewart.

“You learned how to wheelchair dance in a day?” Mr. Stewart asked.

“…It’s not great,” Steve offered.

“But give it a few days,” Mr. Stewart continued for him. Steve beamed.

“So I’m in?”

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Carell.”

-

“Oh, oh-h-h no-o-o…” Olivia mumbled as she walked through the door.

And the bell rang, earsplitting in its volume. She would’ve darted away, but Mr. Stewart grabbed her arm gently.

“Olivia, that’s the tardy bell,” Mr. Stewart reminded her. She feebly nodded in response as he let go of her.

God she was nervous. So nervous. If she made it, who knew what’d happen to her Cheerios career? Sammy still talked to her this morning, light as ever, but reminding her firmly that Coach Coulter wasn’t pleased. (Duh.) Demetri had been more distant, but that was probably because he’d forgotten his locker combo again. John hadn’t said anything to her, but Olivia heard him shouting in the boy’s bathroom a few minutes later, so his mind was elsewhere, too.

But what if she made it? What if the person John shouted angry British things at was her? What if Demetri avoided her?

What about Sammy?

“Miss Munn?”

Olivia blinked. Mr. Stewart was staring at her, concerned.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Olivia nodded. “I-I’m fine, sir. Stewart! Mister. Stewart.” God, her stutter! Why was it acting up now?! She hated her stutter! It made her sound like a child!

“…Take it easy,” he offered. “Just… breathe. Relax. It’s just me and Mr. Hodgman here.”

Mr. Hodgman, from behind the piano, waved. Olivia waved back to him before turning to Mr. Stewart again.

“…Y-you know w-what Coach s-said. Right?” Olivia asked him.

“I do.”

“I-I-I… I’m worried.”

“Don’t be,” Mr. Stewart told Olivia. “You can do it.”

She inhaled, breathing deeply. Yes. She could do it. That’s why she signed her name in indelible purple gel pen on that sign-in sheet. So that she could break free of Cheerios. So she could get out of this disgusting blue-and-gold uniform with the hooker skirt. 

“Okay. I’m r-ready.”

Mr. Hodgman nodded again, starting to play, plaintively, softly. Just how this song should go.

_“…S-she told me not to step on the cracks,”_ Olivia began, casually, as if telling a story. She felt her tongue loosen as she sang, her crippling stutter breaking away. _“I-I told her not to fuss and relax… pretty little things stop me in my t-tracks – that’s why you sleep with one eye open… and that’s the price you pay.”_

Olivia paused; Mr. Hodgman followed. Hey. She could lead.

_“I said heey, girl with one eye – get your filthy fingers out of my pie… I said hey, yeah, girl with one eye – I’ll cut your little heart out… cause you made me cry.”_ Another pause. She was getting the hang of this! Mr. Hodgman was a great piano player. _“I slipped my hand under her skirt… I said, don’t worry, oh no, it’s not gonna hu-ur-urt! OH! My reputation’s kind of clouded with dirt…”_

\- 

Outside, in the hallway, Jason Jones heard the sound of music pouring from the music room. First Katy Perry, then Broadway, then the hat-lady from the inauguration, then Fall Out Boy, and now some very scary, moody jazz-type song. 

His eyes met Kristen Schaal’s as he walked past. He thought about blasting right past, but damn it. He… he wanted to do this. Coach Emanuel encouraged him to go for it (him and Glenn, but Glenn, again, mentioned that he had no hand-eye coordination and went to change elsewhere), but the spectre of Samantha loomed in his head. Coach Coulter said not to. No one with a social life – besides Olivia, who would soon have no social life outside of her pitying best friend – would try out for Mr. Stewart’s musical experiment. No one. 

But he wanted to do this. He wanted to do this.

He turned back to her, taking in Kristen’s perfectly curled hair and wide eyes before speaking.

“…Are you trying out for glee club?” he asked.

-

_“I – SAID – he–y, girl with one eye, oh yeah -! Get your filthy fingers out of my pie and I – I said HEY, girl with one eye...!”_

Olivia stopped swaying with the music, realizing that she was clinging to the microphone stand, like she couldn’t stand without it. She wasn’t sure what she’d just done, but judging by the look on Mr. Stewart’s face, it was good. 

Her self-consciousness flowed back, hitting her at full force. _“I-I’ll cut your l-little heart out… cause y-you made… me… c-cry.”_

She pulled away from the mike stand, hurriedly told Mr. Stewart “th-thank you”, and attempted to leave as quickly as possible. As she reached for the door, she heard Mr. Stewart call her name.

“Miss Munn!”

No one called her that. It was usually just ‘Munn’ in Cheerios, and outside. Sammy called her Olivia, but that was about it.

Olivia turned to look at Mr. Stewart, who was smiling widely. She tightened her grip on the door handle.

“You don’t have to be nervous. You’re great,” Mr. Stewart told her.

“Indeed,” Mr. Hodgman agreed.

She stared at both of them blankly for a few seconds.

“…Not r-r-really,” she murmured.

“Yes really,” Mr. Hodgman pressed. “If he says you aren’t in, I’m forcing him to let you join.”

Mr. Stewart turned his gaze to Mr. Hodgman, looking appreciative. Olivia’s eyes widened a bit, and a tiny smile played at the edges of her lips.

“…Th-thank you,” Olivia spat out hurriedly. She bowed slightly to them before barreling out of the room.

-

Kristen stared up at the guy talking to her, bright eyed and hardly believing this was happening.

Kristen Schaal, through most of her high school life, had been teased, ignored, mocked, pushed into lockers, shoved in the halls, been the recipient of some devastating eye-rolls, and dropped in a dumpster. (Kristen knew she was in for a bad day when she got tossed in the dumpster by two freshman cheerleaders and found Paul Dinello sitting in there with her. When he saw her, he got up and jumped out, nearly breaking his foot. Anything to get away from that weird Kristen Schaal.) Most of the time, the only person who paid her any attention was that annoying Wyatt guy, who probably viewed her as little more than a funny interview for Flatpoint News. 

Kristen didn’t mind living alone. Her two gay dads raised her to be independent, a diva. She poured her whole being into professional singing, and by God, it was enough to sustain her through her distressing high school days.

Well… that and watching Jason Jones walk around campus. She knew he never noticed her. No one did, except female cheerleaders who tormented her, the vaguely concerned visage of Olivia Munn lingering in the background, and Wyatt. 

At least, she thought Jason never noticed her.

Here he was, walking right up to her, plain as day, no snarky comment, none of the disgusted looks his girlfriend Sam shot to anyone in her general area, asking if she was trying out for the glee club. Kristen thought she must be dreaming.

“Are you trying out for glee club?” Jason asked her, a dorky grin on his perfect chiseled face.

“Of course,” Kristen answered. “Singing is kind of my life. I mean, it is my life. I’ve been singing since I was eight months old – what about you?”

Jason seemed bowled over by Kristen’s… effervescence. That’s what her dads told her when she talked too fast. He smiled as she talked, smiling wider when she finished. Kristen glanced at him, wearing a simple black tee and jeans. Why was he even talking to her? This was like a fairy tale. Complete with twangy Taylor Swift-style guitar song playing in the background and stereotypical deserted high school hallway setting. Maybe the Taylor Swift thing was in her head.

“…I just like singing,” Jason responded, with a dorky smile. A charmingly dorky smile.

“It’s a powerful force,” Kristen admitted. “Are you going to try out?”

“Probably… eh…?”

So what if he didn’t know her name?

“Kristen Schaal.” She extended her hand automatically.

“Jason Jones.” She already knew that, but he took her hand. Oh my God. She touched Jason Jones’ hand. This would fill a whole page in her diary. Maybe even two. Maybe she’d even write a poem about it, and try to turn it into a song, and prove to this school that she was totally awesome.

As they pulled apart, Jason glanced down the hallway. The only person there was Coach Emanuel, pulling the ball cart to his office. He waved. Jason waved back. Kristen couldn’t believe she was being seen standing next to Jason Jones!

“What are you going to sing for your -?”

At that moment, the door flung open, and Mr. Stewart glanced at the two of them. His eyes widened a bit upon seeing Jason, smiling to himself. 

“…Miss Schaal?”

Kristen nodded and flounced in.

“Good luck, Jason!” she called back to Jason as she walked in, practically skipping. 

-

Jason could hear Kristen singing through the doorway as he leaned against the nearby wall. 

_“…It’s a typical Tuesday night, I’m listening to the kind of music she don’t like, she doesn’t know your story like I do…”_

Jason knew the song well. Sam sang it all the time to herself, when she thought no one was listening. She loved Taylor Swift. But Kristen had a voice on her. One loud enough to carry through stone walls, yes, but it was beautiful. Stronger than Samantha’s reedy soprano, more polished than Swift herself. Her rambling thing about singing since eight months suddenly made sense. 

_“She wears high heels, I wear sneakers – she’s cheer captain and I’m on the bleachers, waiting for the day when you wake up and find that what you’re – looking for, it’s been here the whole time!”_

Her voice, with each line, built, soaring up and up.

Jason wouldn’t admit it, but he noticed Kristen looking at him sometimes when she hung her little cardigans in her locker. He pretended that he was watching Rob and John argue (that was really easy to do, since everyone within a five-mile radius watched Rob and John argue), but he wondered why she looked at him so often. She never looked lovestruck. Just curious. Maybe it was her really wide eyes. Pretty and light green.

_“If you could see that I’m the one who understands you, been here all along – so why can’t you see… you belong with me…?”_

He’d always wanted to talk to her, actually. Sam said she talked a mile a minute and was a total dork, but Jason felt like maybe someone should talk to her. He talked to Glenn when no one was willing to talk to him at the beginning of the year. He talked to Demetri when his only defining character trait was “that guy following Oliver”. He tried talking to Olivia Munn but she ran away. 

But Kristen, like that group of the two girls and the very flamboyant guy who wandered around, were outcasts. And Jason was not. That was how Rob broke it down for him one day, while they were sitting around playing Left 4 Dead in Jason’s basement. 

_“You belong with me…”_

-

Jon didn’t know what Rahm did to get Jason here, but he was so glad he did. This club couldn’t work with two male voices on opposite ends of the range spectrum. Steve was a great baritone, and Paul’s voice was heartbreakingly beautiful. Actually, to be honest, there wasn’t a rotten voice in the group, and the people seemed like they’d gel together. And so what if Olivia had a crippling stutter, or Ieshuh yelled kind of loud, or whatever else anyone else did? He’d make this glee club work together.

But he couldn’t deny that four women and two men wasn’t the best way to start off. When he saw Jason in the hallway, talking to Kristen, he couldn’t hide his relief. 

And now, Jason was in front of him, shifting nervously between his two feet. Mr. Hodgman watched him curiously, waiting for some sort of direction. 

“I, uh… kind of came on impulse,” Jason admitted.

“That’s fine,” Jon responded.

“…I have no music.”

“We’re in a choir room.”

Jason took that in for a few seconds, before sighing. “I don’t think I can sing any choir music.”

“What kind of music do you listen to?” Jon asked. 

Jon knew that Jason needed an opening. He looked uncomfortable, as uncomfortable as someone who dealt with the brunt of Ann’s crazy decisions on a daily basis would be. But Jon could tell, from looking into Jason’s focused eyes, that he wanted to be in this room, and he wanted to sing. 

Jason thought for a few seconds, sliding his hands into his pockets. “…I do like REO Speedwagon.”

Jon blinked. Okay. He didn’t expect that.

“I know ‘Can’t Fight This Feeling’,” Mr. Hodgman offered to Jason, nodding and smiling politely. Jason, a bit taken aback, nodded back.

“…Cool,” Jason responded, face draining of color. Jon turned to Jason immediately.

“Jason, don’t worry,” Jon told him. “You can do this.”

Jason stared at him for a few seconds, and, as the piano began to play, Jon swore he could see the faintest trace of a grateful smile on his face.

-

Rob Riggle had no idea where the fuck Jason was.

They were supposed to be heading down to the junkyard to find some hubcaps. Rob’s were falling apart from wear, and Jason said he’d do this weeks ago. John Oliver recently uninvited himself from the expedition, by merit of being a complete fucking asshole. Rob let himself seethe for a few seconds before reminding himself – hey. John made a mistake, and when he realized what he’d given up, he’d come crawling back. And Rob would say no and let the miserable wretch suffer for a bit, just like he suffered when he realized –

But John said he wasn’t cheating. Right. Because men routinely slip into bathrooms with their so-called best friends to have little chats. How dare that fucker accuse him of sleeping with other women while he was knocking around with - 

Not important, Rob reminded himself, adjusting his letter jacket as he strode down the hall. Maybe Coach Emanuel held Jason for a bit. He’d held Glenn back for a few minutes the other day to let him know just how uncoordinated he was, and he needed to work on it if he wanted to stay on the defensive line. And Jason had been pretty distracted lately, dealing with all of Sam’s problems and Rob’s problems and worrying – still – about Olivia Munn running away from just about everyone who wasn’t named Samantha, Demetri, or John.

John, that fucker.

No! Find Jason.

Rob wandered around the hallways of Flatpoint High, finding almost no one lingering around. Every once in a while, the ghost of a figure darted towards the front doors, holding study materials or journalism papers or freshly laundered Cheerios uniforms. No sign of Jason, though.

He wandered towards the west wing of the school when something stopped him dead in his tracks.

_“Even as I wander, I’m keeping you in sight! You’re a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter’s night… and I’m getting closer than I ever thought I might!”_

Rob stood in the hallway, staring at a door a few paces away. That was the old abandoned choir room. And that voice, however wobbly, was definitely Jason’s.

Rob, personally, could care less about the glee club shit now. And, in the frame of mind he was in, he was inclined to love anything he thought John would hate. But he knew that Jason auditioning for Mr. Stewart’s glee club was bad. Very bad. 

He retraced his steps, going backwards. He just wouldn’t say anything. Yeah. Maybe no one would find out Jason auditioned, and he wouldn’t suffer the same fate as Olivia. Rob wouldn’t stop being his friend. Glenn definitely wouldn’t. 

But there was the little matter of everyone else.

_“And I can’t fight this feeling anymore!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you probably have noticed, I am very bad at updating things I write. It doesn’t help that I have to redo formatting, fix errors and broken YouTube links, and rewatch Glee episodes I haven’t seen since I was in college to write this. Lol. This seems to have gotten a bigger audience than it ever did when I had it on LiveJournal, so I’m very humbled by that. 
> 
> I also hope that the way I write songs in this story isn’t too awkward or off-putting. I prefer weaving them into the narrative, rather than just copy-pasting lyrics and having your mind fill in the gaps. 
> 
> Rereading and writing this has made me so painfully nostalgic for the golden age of TDS and TCR. I think I can say with certainty that I've never been a part (a very small part) of such a wonderful fandom, and Fake News RPF really is the best. Now I'm stuck in old TDS/TCR wormholes on the internet - and would be more stuck in them if Comedy Central hadn't redesigned the TDS website to be the most unnavigable piece of crap ever. Their websites are the literal worst.
> 
> And yes, the next chapter will come quicker than this one. I promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, wow. It’s been four years since I looked at this, but the idea kept coming back to me. I had most of this thing plotted out in my head when I began, but then “Glee” took a complete nosedive, and I’m sure something was going on in college to keep me from finishing more than the first arc of this story. 
> 
> The loss of TCR and, to a lesser extent, TDS (I pretty much stopped watching TDS after John Oliver left) has been really hitting me hard the past couple of months, and, weirdly, my mind keeps coming back to this fic. I figure now is finally the time to at least TRY to finish it up. Maybe I’ll only get through what would correspond to the first twelve episodes of “Glee”, maybe I’ll get farther. Who knows! I just know that I feel moved to finally give the world more of this stupidity  
> .  
> I doubt anyone from the LJ days remembers this stupid thing, anyways, so I can completely change it and how closely it follows “Glee”, right? RIIIIGHT? (It was posted as “Glee Club Shuffle” eons ago. In case anyone gave a flying fuck.)
> 
> Also, Ieshuh Griffin was my favorite person ever profiled on TDS: http://thedailyshow.cc.com/videos/m9hu4b/slogan-s-hero 
> 
> The world should know of her. 
> 
> In future chapters, I’ll use this space to post links to the songs featured in each chapter. I didn’t do it here because you already hate me for getting “I Gotta Feeling” stuck in your head and no you don’t need the video, you already remember that whole fucking song.


End file.
